


Walk Me Home

by Acalculia



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Post-Episode: s02e10 Noel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:53:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28271940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acalculia/pseuds/Acalculia
Summary: Her last true deep breath had been in that second before, when she’d heard good news about the President and thought that they had been saved, miraculously, everyone was going to be okay.
Relationships: Josh Lyman/Donna Moss
Comments: 1
Kudos: 58





	Walk Me Home

She inhaled through her noise and counted, holding the air for a few seconds before slowly letting it escape out of her mouth. It did little to appease the urgent thrumming of her heart as she looked across the small ER cubicle to see him flinch and swear lightly as the doctor cleaned glass out of his palm. She reached out and quietly took his other hand as they started stitching the wound closed. He gave her a small, sad smile as he turn his head to look at her. Her eyes wandered quickly over his face before settling on his, probing gently as she gave him what she hoped was a reassuring look. 

She’d waited anxiously all day to see if he was okay. If she really thought about it, she’d been waiting for weeks, months even, ever since receiving that punch in the gut, “Josh was hit”. Her last true deep breath had been in that second before, when she’d heard good news about the President and thought that they had been saved, miraculously, everyone was going to be okay. She hadn’t even considered when he didn’t answer his phone or rush to greet her in that damn waiting room that Josh could be lying somewhere in the hospital, her brain refusing to even conjure the image until the air was forced from her lungs and she stood behind the glass watching them piece him back together. She barely remembered the first 24 hours and the 3 months of hell that followed still made her queasy if she thought about them for too long. Having him back at work was easier, in so many ways she had almost convinced herself it was like before.

He had been doing so well, excited and full of frantic energy when she had been so worried that he would never breathe again let alone bounce around the walls and drive her crazy. He was eager to throw himself back into it, bright, ready to banter and lingering at her desk perhaps longer than only a boss should have. Her role in his recovery meant that a lot of their relationship had blown right past that line of what an assistant, or even a friend, should be and sure, it confused the hell out of her but she didn’t mind. From there she could still watch him, calm herself in seeing him breathing and whole, which meant she’d watched as he slowly disappeared, not even realising the pain and desperation within himself.

This past week had been torture, trying to help him as he fought back against everyone and lashed out like a wounded animal. He raged and yelled and stopped looking her in the eye but she could still feel the tension rolling off of him, a surging storm leaving devastation in its wake. She’d tried pushing him right back to startle him, tried being immeasurably calm to soothe him, tried being their flirty normal to pretend nothing was happening and reassure him but he continued to hurtle towards the precipice and she finally had to admit that she was terrified.

Her anxiety had sky-rocketed the night of the Congressional Christmas Party. She had watched him intently all that afternoon, after Margaret whispered to her about him yelling in the Oval Office, she had hugged him briefly, thanking him for her invitation to the Christmas party, and felt his heart pounding and his body practically buzzing with adrenaline before she watched him leave, dazed and glassy eyed. Yo-Yo Ma ruled, she was right about that, and Josh was rapidly approaching a catastrophic implosion, she knew she was right about that too. He tried to hide his badly bandaged hand but within half an hour of him storming through the bull pen and slamming his door the next morning she stood, stomach twisting, as she saw her pain and worry echoed in Leo’s eyes over the man who for all intents and purposes was his son. It had been a very hard few days.

He hadn’t said much on seeing her waiting there for him, as if she would be anywhere else when he clearly needed her so much. The drive to the hospital was quiet but just before they walked through the ER’s sliding glass doors, her arm again linked through the crook of his elbow, he stopped.

Looking her full in the face for the first time in a week, his voice barely above a whisper, he murmured “ _thank you_ ”.

Their silence started to returned in the waiting room, she didn’t need to know what Stanley had said, she had a pretty good idea anyway, just needed to know that he was safe. She filled in the paperwork, not needing to ask questions about his history, adding herself as his emergency contact, and snuck a look at him from the corner of her eye, pale, withdrawn and deep dark circles under his eyes. It wasn’t in question that she would accompany him into the treatment room and now that he was at least physically stitched back together, she led him back out to the car and drove him home. She slowed as she turned into his street and they both sat up a little straighter, craning necks to look at all the cars parked along the pavement leaving nowhere for her to pull in. In the pain of the day, she’d forgotten but it hit her as she drove past the church, families walking up the steps as yellow light shone out onto the still pavement- it was Christmas Eve.

She managed to park the car about 2 blocks away. She refused to look at him as she undid her seatbelt and opened the door, not giving him the chance to lie and tell her he was fine getting home by himself. As she rounded the car and took his arm once again the latecomers hurried into the church and it fell quiet on the street.

The walk to his apartment was with an entirely different Josh. He was calmer than she had seen him in about a month, still not full Josh Lyman bluster and charm but warmer and more alive. They spoke quietly and lightly, avoiding any actual conversation. She made some inane joke about her shoes being unsuitable for the long walk, he quipped back about breaking in the new pair from his mother, she taunted him about the icy pavement and the slippery floor of the Hill. He rolled his eyes, a small twitch in his cheek as the corner of his lip curled up. Her heart leapt- this was Josh, teasing and infuriating, this was Josh, being okay. 

By the time they walked up the steps to his front door, his hand had found its way to the small of her back and her chest was feeling lighter than she could remember. She knew he was still dangerously close to that precipice but now he was letting her stand beside him and God help her if she didn’t get him back to safety. 

Her burgeoning hope took a blow as she opened his door and saw the patched up window. She was smart enough to put two and two together, between his hand and the call from his super about boarding it up before he could order a new windowpane, but seeing it still left her breathless. They both stood there on the door step, looking at it for a moment in a deep sickening silence.

She blinked twice and stepped over the threshold towards the kitchen. “I’ll make us some tea?” she asked at the same time Josh practically whispered “will you stay?” bordering on begging, barely even a question and one she knows she has no power to refuse.

Later, he would tell her about how music and his own mind was betraying him, how he could feel the fear and bitter anger rushing forth but could do nothing to stop them.

Later, she would reveal she had cancelled her Christmas trip home a week ago, after all the yelling and slamming of doors left her too scared to leave the district.

Talking would come later, but for now they sat on his sofa, each clutching a steaming mug of tea in one hand, his arm slung around the back of the sofa, just brushing along her shoulders as her feet tucked up underneath her to angle her towards him. They stared straight ahead at the TV, some inane Hallmark movie playing, and just sat there together, calm and healing and whole.

Sitting beside him on the couch, she felt herself take a deep breathe.


End file.
